


Just Fine

by limesnapdragon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8748277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limesnapdragon/pseuds/limesnapdragon
Summary: Stiles is nervous for the mating run. He's an omega, and he doesn't want an undeniable biological attraction to some dickhead who thinks he's inferior.





	

Bullshit. This whole thing was such total bullshit.

That was Stiles’s opinion. And he made no secret of it. Not to his friends, at least. Definitely not to the teachers and organizers.

The only person Stiles kept his trap shut around was his dad, and that was because he was elected into his job and it went without saying that the Sheriff’s son had to follow certain traditions. The mating run was compulsory but they both knew that if Stiles wanted to get out of it he would. John wouldn’t force him to do something he was violently opposed to, preferring to give his son the freedom of choice and just accept when he didn’t get re-elected.

But Stiles wasn’t okay with that. Because John was the best candidate for Sheriff – the only other person who was eligible was Haigh, and he was an idiot – and because Stiles didn’t want to get his father fired. He valued his father’s career and he bent the rules so frequently that somehow dodging the mating run would be overkill, even if John would never say so.

So Stiles had shut up and accepted that he was going to be pushed into this old-fashioned bullshit ritual, just like he had accepted that he was an omega and people were going to be dicks about it.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to fight back. Last time someone had made fun of his apparent inferiority they’d regretted it. Because, yeah, omegas were typically ‘weaker’ and were often seen by society as not as capable as their alpha or beta counterparts, but that one went both ways. It meant that when a dickhead alpha ended up at the doctor’s office nobody really believed them when they said it was an omega who’d done it.

Stiles didn’t like, and wasn’t particularly good at, inflicting physical pain. But he knew how to get back at people. A few months ago he’d keyed Jackson’s car well and truly, inscribing some interesting artwork that was not appreciated by his victim. Jackson had gone into a violent, blustery rage and yelled at anyone who would listen that some ‘motherfucking bitchass omega’ had wrecked his Porsche, but nobody listened. Because omegas had delicate wiring, they said, omegas weren’t programmed to destroy or hurt, omegas were sweet and gentle and hated revenge and confrontation and fights.

 And sure, Stiles was generally a nice person. But not when someone shoved him into a locker and hissed ‘I know why you take Omega Studies, _bitch._ You want someone to breed you good’ at him. Stiles was smart enough to know he couldn’t sock Jackson on the jaw like he wanted to without getting a world of pain for it himself, so he had bit his tongue and waited. And waited. And then, while Jackson was at a lacrosse game and Stiles was benchwarming, he had sneaked out and drawn a dick or two on the alpha’s precious car.

Stiles hated Omega Studies. Everyone had to take it, and it was such bullshit. Cooking and sewing and crap. Who cared? He got good grades because it was an easy subject to get an A in and it brought up his GPA, and if the embroidery on his tea towel was perfect the teacher couldn’t mark him down for stitching FUCK OFF AND DIE surrounded by little flowers. He made his distaste for omega stereotypes known and he didn’t care who got offended.

He wasn’t the only one. Scott’s girlfriend Allison was a beta and took part in all sorts of activities that were usually reserved for alphas. Sports, for instance; cross-country and archery and shooting, those things were generally ‘alpha’ things to do, and it was weird that she partook. But she didn’t give a flying fuck and Stiles respected that a lot.

Scott and Allison. The mating run organizers didn’t really care about previously existing romances when it came down to the run. They would all be given scent enhancers which would amplify their own natural smells, so if Scott and Allison weren’t truly intended for one another, they wouldn’t be able to stand each other. Immediate breakup in favour of another, better scent. It wasn’t bitter when that happened, it was instinct and nobody could fault anyone else for it. _Just wasn’t meant to be._

The mating run was an age-old tradition, back way from the time when alphas were providers and omegas stayed at home minding the kids. And betas just did their thing, really, some kind of in-between depending on the individual pair. Back in the old days, a couple was formed between a man and a woman of lower dynamic than him. Society was past that, now, but it still meant that some people viewed Stiles as essentially useless. Because there was no dynamic lower than omega, so as an omega guy, Stiles would’ve ended up on his own.

Thankfully most people were much more open-minded when it came to pairings now. Stiles was bi and quite proudly so, but he knew a lot of people only really discovered their sexual orientation during the run. They followed a scent and it led to someone of an unexpected gender, but the scent never lied. It made Stiles wonder why people in the past had been so staunchly heterosexual.

Alphas and omegas were forced to participate in the runs each consecutive year for five years, starting on their eighteenth birthdays. Betas were made to for three years, but the odds of anyone sticking around that long were quite low.

It depended on your dynamic, but most omegas met their alphas on their first two runs. There were more alphas than there were omegas, so as an omega Stiles’s chances of running for five years were quite low, but for an alpha it wasn’t that unusual. The run was almost entirely scent-based, and omegas had the best senses (followed by alphas), so the value of an actual run to the average beta was quite low. Allison was running her second year – she had spent most of the day on the first year trying to prying fighting alphas apart.

And it was weird when you were in the middle of junior year, like Stiles had been last mating run, and suddenly people in the year above come back and act all mated at school.

But he was approaching the end of his high school career, he had gotten all his replies back from universities and he knew where he was going. It was down to a choice between Syracuse for Criminal Psychology or Yale for plain ol’ Pysch with the possibility of specializing later. He’d gotten himself some scholarships, they could totally make it work.

And he wasn’t going to wind up with some asshole alpha who thought omegas belonged at home in the kitchen. Because scent might attract him to somebody, might attract somebody to him, but he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to. Hell, he could have crazy bond-forming sex all night with some alpha, be totally supposed to mate them, and pull out at the last minute. He could decide he didn’t want the alpha anywhere near him and run away. Legally, that was allowed. It was generally viewed as fucking dumb, since when you mated on the run you mated for life, but if Stiles wound up being stupidly attracted to somebody who didn’t value him he wasn’t staying in some abusive relationship. The organizers came round a few months after the run to the newly mated, asking them questions in private about how well everything was working, and sometimes unions had to be dissolved. It was rare and some people viewed it as shameful, but Stiles had the option. He still had choices.

But now he was going to be launched out into the Preserve to wander around, stinking of omega until someone found him and their wolf decided they quite liked that particular smell.

It could be an alpha. It could be a beta. It could even be another omega.

Stiles doubted it would be an omega. Omegas tended to be quiet and unassertive, and while Stiles was the exact opposite of quiet himself, he knew what he wanted. He didn’t like being told what to do, but he did quite enjoy it in the bedroom. Loved it, in fact. Maybe it was his inner animal coming out, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he found being bossed around sexually to be hot. He’d liked it when Malia had done it, he’d liked it a lot.

But he hated it when it was outside of the bedroom.

And that kind of switchable compromise sounded most like beta to him. Alphas were often overbearing or domineering, bossy sometimes for no other reason than they thought they _should_ be. It wasn’t all alphas, God knew Scott wasn’t like that, he was kind and good and his dynamic came out in his protectiveness and his natural ability to lead, but Stiles still maintained that a beta would be so much more likely to be flexible and allow for his weird nature.

He wasn’t your stereotypical omega, which meant he wasn’t going to attract any stereotypical alpha, and that was just fine with him.

His plan was to walk out of this wholly unmated. Wait with the whole shebang, go to college, meet someone nice in a bar and take it from there. Someone with progressive views on omega rights, not someone who swallowed all the crap there was here.

That was the problem with Beacon Hills. It was big enough to have its own mating run, but not so big that people in general had liberal attitudes.

The mating run was recognized as outdated – making teenagers get mated? Really? – but it was a tradition and it did actually appear to have a plausible effect in keeping the fertility rate. People had such a hard time conceiving in general, but it was said that mates had it easier, and if you ship teenagers off with people they know they’re going to be with for life, they’re likely to have babies at some point.

Stiles wasn’t impotent, like some assholes suggested. Being an omega didn’t make him any less capable of getting somebody pregnant, and contrary to popular belief it didn’t mean he had a tiny, useless, purely decorative dick. He couldn’t get pregnant himself, but the whole kids thing wasn’t really high on his priority list. If he did wind up getting a mate and the mate turned out male he wouldn’t be producing mini-Stiles anytime soon.

Not that he would if the mate turned out female, either. Stiles was getting his education before babies, and that was that. He’d gotten a contraceptive shot two weeks ago just to be sure – illegally, given that he was due to run, but it wasn’t like he gave a shit. He’d been told he was too ambitious, too forward, too impatient, whatever, he didn’t care. He liked learning and he wasn’t giving it up for some alpha.

He had told Scott as much when they had parted ways. He had said it loudly, in full view of the event organizers, some of whom gave him the side-eye for it. One person even shushed him, but hell if that had ever stopped Stiles Stilinski before.

Scott had grinned and said, “I hope you find someone. You know that, right? Isn’t it lame being single?”

Stiles and Malia had broken up a few months ago, so he’d been back to Single Stiles for a while. Aside from that thing with that guy at that party that one time. That didn’t count. He was drunk and actual sex had not taken place. “What if I get mated to some _asshole_?” A few of the alphas milling around turned to give him appraising looks. “Y’know, someone who only likes me for my embroidery.”

Scott sputtered with laughter. They were both well aware of Stiles’s talent for embroidery. He had progressed, from a slightly crooked TOO KOOL 4 SKOOL in sophomore year to an almost neat WHO GIVES A SHIT in junior year to the beautifully stitched FUCK OFF AND DIE from last semester. They all hung in places of pride on the walls in the Stilinski household. “Someone who likes your embroidery is someone worth holding on to.” Scott smirked.

They hung around together until one of the organizers spotted Stiles and pulled him out of the alpha holding area. He was taken down to the other omegas, a few miles from where the others would be let out, to wait in a hall.

There were scores of nervous teenagers, and not many who were older than that. Stiles didn’t see too many people he knew – the girl who lived across the street, that kid from his English class, that guy from the lacrosse team, but he didn’t know any of them by name. They were identified and marked down and then all had to change into something that was scent neutral, a simple outfit customized for each of them.

So that they could be identified from a distance, each dynamic wore a differently coloured shirt. Alphas wore red, betas blue and omegas white, and there was some symbolism there, but Stiles couldn’t be bothered to get into it. Everyone was given sweatpants – soft enough not to irritate the skin, but warm enough to insulate should it get cold, even though it was May and supposed to be toasty even at night. Navy was for first-timers, grey for those doing their second run, dark green for the third run, brown for the fourth and black for those participating for the fifth and final time, but Stiles didn’t see any omegas in black. The colour scheme served mainly to identify them to organizers, but it was helpful that the dynamic was visible from a distance. The senses would be heightened under the full moon, but the colours made sure.

Stiles stared blearily at his reflection in the long row of mirrors along one wall, ignoring the hubbub. His white tee was pale against his skin and it didn’t do his complexion any favours. It made his cheeks look pinker, which Stiles himself thought was ridiculous, and the rest of his skin sallow. The navy sweatpants were inoffensive, but Stiles was irritated by how they were only given socks and not shoes.

He supposed he should be glad. Socked feet could move much more quietly than shoes could. In fact, maybe it was a good thing that this colour combo was washing him out. Maybe it would make the others hesitate, question their noses. Did they really want this omega? This omega, who looked like a waif even though he’d put on some weight over the past few years, with blotchy cheeks and a bird’s nest of brown hair that could _sometimes_ pull off that artfully tousled look but more often than not just looked messy? This omega, who would backtalk his own reflection if it would gain him anything?

Nah, Stiles was running today. And not running as in the mating run, no, Stiles was running from the others. He’d wait it out in a cave or something, sit in a river so his scent didn’t carry, he’d sit patiently and wait. It was one afternoon, a night, and then most of the next day. Thirty hours or so in total. Stiles wasn’t the patient type, but if it saved him from being tackled into a ditch by some creeper who thought they had a claim to him, he’d sit as quiet as a mouse the entire freaking time.

When everyone was clothed and ready they were herded into a line to be given the scent enhancer. They used to be administered orally but the pills took too long to work, so they all had to be given a shot in the arm. Stiles was not overly fond of needles and when the doctor took his arm he looked away and bit his lip.

He generally passed off his squeamishness to such things as one of the side effects of being an omega to those who didn’t know better. He didn’t like seeing blood or wounds or surgery of any kind and people assumed it was because the little omega couldn’t handle seeing people hurt or in pain, and he let them think that. It made them less likely to suspect him when Matt Daehler turned up at the nurse’s office with a broken nose after some unpleasant comments on a helpless little omega’s ability to play lacrosse.

Stiles was crap at lacrosse. But that was more of a Stiles thing than an omega thing.

Scott, of course, knew better, knew that Stiles hated blood and all that jazz because it made him feel sick, and that was the end of it. And although Scott might be an alpha with good, noble intentions, he didn’t stop his friend when Stiles lied his way around problems. Scott knew that it was the only way to make it through life as a weirdass male omega in this goddamn town and not go totally insane.

When the shots were done they were held back for another half hour, giving the injection time to work. It would both amplify their scents and serve to ‘make them closer to their instincts’, whatever the hell that meant. It upped the desire to mate, Stiles knew that, and it sounded a lot like drugging to him, like they wanted him to be so horny he’d shut off his brain and just listen to his wolf, but he wasn’t planning on giving them the satisfaction. They’d been told that it would give them ‘something similar to the symptoms of a heat’, which didn’t make it any less creepy. The shot also increased fertility, but that didn’t bother Stiles too much after he’d acquired the contraceptive.

At noon precisely the omegas would be let out into the Preserve, some to hang around close by in the hopes of finding a mate, some to run and make the chase harder for their mates, and Stiles to run as far and as fast as he could. The betas would leave at one p.m. and the alphas at two, and they’d wander back to the gates the next day. Stiles planned to wait out that day, too, wait until he was absolutely positive that everyone else had gone before making his way back. He didn’t want to get caught by some straggler lagging behind.

The other omegas milled around, talking to each other, but Stiles stood off in a corner, back against the wall, head downcast, twisting his fingers and blocking out the world. He didn’t want to hear how the others were hatching plans to _bag themselves the best alpha,_ he didn’t want to know and he didn’t care enough to pretend otherwise. There was a buffet table which Stiles ignored in favour of keeping his stomach light so he could run. Someone tried vainly to strike up a conversation but he was ignored until he went away. Stiles edged closer to the door to the outside, flicking his gaze between his fingers and the spot on the floor where the queue would begin. He wanted to be the first out of there, wanted to sprint as fast as his legs would carry him, and he wondered when he’d gotten this scared.

He’d felt much more nonchalant about this last night, indeed, every other night leading up to the run he’d been less nervous. It had been more of a _fuck everyone, who cares?_ But Stiles was having a tough time summoning up that kind of thinking right now. Right now, he just wanted this over with.

He wasn’t terrified of the idea of finding a mate, but he thought it so unlikely that something else took precedence. Every year, people got hurt on the mating run. More often than not it was a couple of alphas who’d gotten into a fight over an omega and had roughed each other up, but worse things happened sometimes. The year before last a beta and an omega had reported an alpha forcing himself upon them, but nobody really did anything about it. It was all written off as high spirits and wild instincts, and the pull of the full moon made everyone bolder. Three years earlier a beta had been admitted to hospital after she’d tried to run from another beta who had decided they were mates and had clawed her up after a less-than-enthusiastic response. Stiles had seen the gory case file of the omega who had actually died on a mating run seven years ago, had read it on his dad’s computer and had felt queasy for a week afterwards. He didn’t want to end up like that, didn’t want to be attacked for his right to tell an asshole to fuck off.

Running was the best way to get out of that.

As a particularly bored-looking beta officiant called out for the omegas to get in line, Stiles scurried to the front and took his place as far forward as would allow. He wasn’t right at the beginning but he was definitely up there in the first fifteen. Some would get out right away, leave scent trails everywhere in the hopes of attracting a mate. Some would wait right until the end to go, hoping to find the betas and alphas where they were let out a mile or so east. Stiles looked around, and while he wasn’t the only nervous face around, he didn’t see anyone who looked quite as skittish as he felt.

When the gun sounded the gates were opened and the omegas began to filter out. They weren’t fast, the first few taking up a light jog in a general easterly direction, and Stiles blew by them as he set a fast pace.

The sun was right in the middle of the sky, which made it difficult to judge which way was east and which west, but Stiles remembered when the officiant had dragged him out of the alpha holding area and driven him in a dumb little golf buggy to the omega hall, and he took off in the opposite direction to that. He couldn’t go directly away, since that would have him follow the borders of the Preserve in a ring along, and he wanted to stay well away from the edges and get deeper into the forest, so he changed course, heading more south-west. It didn’t matter if he got lost, if he wasn’t back by tomorrow night they’d send out search parties and helicopters and the whole nine yards. He was more worried about someone finding him than he was getting lost in the woods.

His socked feet caught on branches and roots but the adrenaline was pulsing through him too fast for him to even notice. He didn’t know how to cover his tracks and anybody who followed him would catch the scent anyway, so his best hope was to go far and fast rather than discreet. Sure, crashing around and making tons of noise wouldn’t do him any favours, but until the others were let out his plan was to get deeper into the forest than most people would go, and damn the noise. When he was far out he could slow down and find somewhere sheltered to sleep the night away.

Finding a source of water was a solid idea, too, and if he could find some berries or something that would do him good. It was only a night, he could go that long without sustenance, but dehydration would make him weak and being weak would make life difficult.

He might be fast, but alphas had the upper hand when it came to stamina and physical strength. Stiles’s advantage lay in that his senses were better than everyone else’s and he was naturally better at running – but an alpha in pursuit of a mate was not generally something you could run from. If Stiles could find himself a nice grove of trees and stay alert enough to listen to his surroundings, he’d probably be okay.

He had talked to Allison about the possibility of climbing a tree and waiting up there, throwing sticks at anyone who tried to climb after him, but she had shaken her head grimly. She had watched an alpha uproot a tree, tip the whole thing over and catch the beta who was up there. If someone really wanted to come after him, a tree was not smart. If he fell he’d be hurt and it left him no opportunity for escape. And it wasn’t like Stiles was an expert tree climber.

He slowed to catch his breath and take measure of his surroundings. Stiles closed his eyes, turned his nose into the breeze, sharpened his hearing. The nearest omega was half a mile east, too close for Stiles’s taste, so he veered west for a while before returning to his original course. The omegas were quite scattered now, preferring to go solo than band in groups. There were several hanging around closer to the gates, but most were a bit further out, trying to find secluded spots to spend the night with their mates. As far as Stiles could tell none of them had employed his tactic of running the fuck away.

There was no way to measure the passage of time until the second gun sounded so Stiles kept right on running. He knew he’d eventually tire himself out but his brain was whirring away tactically. He had an hour’s head start on the betas, two hours on the alphas. Statistically speaking omegas were more likely to mate alphas, but what that counted for here and now Stiles couldn’t say. That meant he had an hour to get out of range of the betas, two hours to get away from the alphas.

Minus, of course, whatever time had already elapsed since they’d been released.

If someone caught his scent and decided to follow it then no head start would mean anything, the only way to throw someone off would be to stop the scent trail, and only a body of water could do that. But if he got deep enough into the forest, chances were a follower would get bored of following the scent and just go after someone else. He didn’t really have to run far, just further than everyone else.

And run he did. Stiles had no idea how long he spent running, hurtling through the undergrowth. He tripped, fell, got back up again, kept on going. His lungs were protesting and he was sure his skin would be hellishly blotchy by now but he forced himself to ignore it and keep on running. When he found himself slowing down he pictured his degree in Criminal Psychology and reminded himself that someone might actually try to take it from him, but they could only do that if he was slow enough to be caught.

He was a good few miles into the woods when the second gun went off. The betas were out. When he turned his face to the breeze he couldn’t smell anyone else, so he had to be a while off from the nearest person, before he considered checking the wind direction. Judging by the way he’d come the wind was blowing from the north-west.

He cursed. He couldn’t smell anyone because nobody had come this far west, he was the furthest out. His scent, however, would carry south-east on the breeze, right across to where the alphas and betas would be running. A smart thing to do would be to get downwind, go as far south-east as possible, but to do that he would have had to cross directly over the path of the others, and his scent trail would be a neon light, regardless of the wind. He could run further, then skirt around later, but that was risky too. No, he’d started his plan out now, it was time to stick to it. Most of the other omegas would be west of the alpha and beta release areas, so maybe the scents would jumble. He continued deeper into the Preserve.

At some point he stopped to take measure and heard someone moving nearly a mile back east. They were definitely coming his way, too far out to determine gender and too far downwind to smell out dynamic. Stiles picked up the pace, veered his course slightly further south and deeper into the woods, and after what felt like an eternity of the blood thrumming in his head the footsteps disappeared.

Once the footsteps had been gone for a while he slowed his pace but stayed his course. Going south meant going deeper into the Preserve, and that seemed like a good idea right now. He was further out than anyone else, of that he was certain, and if he stayed this way he’d be safe.

Stiles had no way of measuring the passage of time and no real need to. He had only one goal, to get as far away as he could, and his brisk walk was a welcome respite from the strenuous running. He was beginning to think he could hear the sound of running water further this way when the third gun went off, causing him to almost jump out of his skin.

The alphas would be out now, and if anyone was going to either harm Stiles or be some colossal dickhead who insisted they mated, it was probably going to be an alpha. They would be better at tracking him and more inclined to look. He had a two hour headstart on them, though, and that had to count for _something._ He’d hear them coming before they heard him. Although with the wind blowing the way it did…

There was no use fretting. All there was to be done was to carry on. He strained his hearing, listening intently for the sound of what he was sure was a river.

He carried on towards the water for a while, an hour, maybe more, he didn’t really know. There was no _need_ to know. He had to find water and then shelter and just keep on walking for as long as he could.

He was maybe a mile from the river when he turned his face around and caught the faint scent of alpha.

It panicked him, shot his brain straight into overdrive, and he wasted a few precious moments reminding himself that the place was bound to smell of alpha before he strained his hearing. And he did not like what he heard.

Rushing through the woods at top speed was an alpha, barrelling down this path, heading straight for Stiles. He wasn’t crazed by the scent like some became after smelling their mates, and Stiles wasn’t remotely intrigued by his. From here Stiles could smell the added strength of alpha scent from the shot, but something else as well. Something aggressive and violent. He didn’t know what it was but even his wolf was urging him to run, so he turned around and sprinted south-east, trying to get downwind.

This was not an alpha who intended on mating him. This was not some kind, respectful person Stiles might actually like. The pheromones coming off of him were bloodthirsty and cruel and Stiles felt fear thrill in his chest. People being mated against their well happened on the runs, and the prospect of it terrified Stiles.

He must have been walking longer than he’d thought if this alpha was so close to catching up, a small, logical part of Stiles’s brain reminded him as he hurtled through the forest. He’d have caught up two hours of running, so Stiles must’ve been walking for at least that. Stiles cursed. He should’ve known it was so late, should’ve been able to see it in the sky. It would be dark soon, and alphas could see in the dark. Stiles couldn’t.

The alpha was definitely gaining on him, but he wasn’t quite close enough to be seen yet, and Stiles figured if he couldn’t see the alpha, the alpha probably couldn’t see him. Shaking him off his trail was the obvious solution, and there was only one way to do that.

Stiles altered course slightly, heading for the river whose bend he’d been following. If he managed to get in the river before getting in seeing distance of the alpha he might just have a chance.

The alpha was maybe half a mile behind him and Stiles was beginning to _really_ panic when he came across the river. He wanted to leave a dummy scent trail to lead the alpha way but didn’t have time, the alpha was gaining on him, and he followed along the riverbank, looking for –

 _There._ A pool where the water collected before flowing further. A series of rocky outcroppings. That might just do it. Stiles slid carefully into the water to avoid splashing and swam over – the pool was too deep for him to stand – to hide under a large, smooth rock that jutted out over the water. The water was pleasantly cool against Stiles’s sweaty skin, the clothes making it difficult to swim, but he held onto the rock and kept his breathing as light as he could, focusing on the heavy footfalls approaching.

The alpha halted a little way shy of the riverbank, obviously confused at where the scent trail had gone. The proximity was enough for Stiles to confirm his earlier suspicious – by the weight of the footsteps, the alpha was male and very large. Not someone Stiles would be fighting, then.

But for all the alpha’s strength he didn’t seem too smart. He had stopped short at the riverbank, and appeared to be standing totally still. If Stiles’s entire body was submerged, he wouldn’t smell at all, and the water would muffle his heartbeat. The alpha continued to stand by the banks, scenting the air. At one point he grew frustrated, landing a hard kick on a nearby log, sending it flying into the river. It landed with a loud splash and Stiles tried not to flinch.

After what must have been ten minutes of the alpha staring blankly at the woods and the water he grunted and took off again, not with the same rapid speed as earlier, but a solid jog. Stiles quelled his immediate desire to get out of the cold water and forced himself to wait, clinging onto the rock so as to not be seen by anyone at all. He would wait until the alpha was out of hearing distance, and then he would go – _quietly_ – in the opposite direction.

He sat for a half hour or so, treading water, watching the sun warily. It would be unwise to be outside during the night, he’d be better off if he could find somewhere more secluded. If it came down to it, a tree, though he’d prefer not to climb. With his level of coordination climbing trees was just asking for shit to go down.

While he waited, though, a better idea occurred to him. Instead of getting out of the river, following it while in the actual water would give him a good advantage. He’d be basically scentless, the scent trail would end and it wouldn’t pick up again until he got out. This was an excellent idea. The river meandered south-east, so it would keep him downwind, as well. It meant he might be more likely to encounter people, but those he _did_ encounter wouldn’t know he was there. Much better than keeping west. The angry alpha was evidence of that being a failure.

He allowed himself to follow the bends of the river, wriggling around to generate some heat. It wasn’t so deep as to be dangerous, but he kept himself submerged even if it meant crawling or floating along on his hands and knees. He kept a sharp ear out for other people but heard none, at least not over the noise of the river.

It was a little while later when Stiles was examining his surroundings and had to contain a whoop. He couldn’t believe his luck. A little way up ahead was a rock formation of some kind, a small cliff, a bluff with what looked an awful lot like a cave in it. It was within close distance of the stream and it would keep out wind and rain. It wasn’t exactly as closed-off as Stiles would have liked, but Stiles knew he wouldn’t be content unless he was literally locked in a sealed tomb for the night. It would start getting dark in an hour or so, Stiles estimated, so now was a good time to leave the river.

He dragged himself out, freezing in the wind, and made his way over to the cave. The temptation to stand in the breeze to dry out was strong but Stiles quashed it, reminding himself that he didn’t want to act as a beacon with his scent. Instead, he headed into his cave, which was more of a hole underneath a cliff, but whatever, and took off his shirt.

He wrung the shirt out and tried vainly to dry himself on some leaves. He shook his hair until most of the droplets were gone and sat down on a stone, resolving to wait until he had dried to put his shirt back on.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. The first signs of dusk were beginning to creep in when his torso finally felt dry enough to don all his clothes again. Taking off his sweatpants would leave him more exposed than he’d like so he ignored how they were still kind of soggy and headed down to the river.

He hummed to himself lightly and cupped his hands over the water. It couldn’t fill the growling hunger in his belly but it was clear and delicious after a day of running through the woods so he drank his fill. He hadn’t felt like drinking water earlier when he’d actually been in it, because that was kind of weird, and in the end he put his mouth to the surface and slurped. It was so much more efficient than trying to hold water in his bare hands.

When he raised his head from the river again he flicked his gaze over to the opposite side and jumped half a foot in the air.

On the opposite bank of the river was a head.

Not a disembodied head, he told himself sternly, a head that stayed above the surface while the body remained underneath. He froze in fear when he saw the person staring right back at him, watching with something resembling amusement, as if Stiles had been watched the whole time.

His wolf rattled off information while his human brain was occupied. _Male. Alpha. Not the same as the one from before._ The scent was very faint and Stiles couldn’t get a fix on it. Probably because of the water.

What he could see was dark hair, not wet from the water like Stiles’s still was, tanned skin and green eyes beneath heavyset eyebrows. Not the red irises of an alpha on the hunt, but the look of someone who was definitely lucid.

He was torn between fleeing and inquiring. The stranger seemed content to remain on the opposite side of the bank, as if he could smell Stiles’s nerves – hell, Stiles was so nervous, if he couldn’t smell them there was something wrong with him, even with Stiles sitting downwind – and didn’t want to exacerbate them. Definitely not the alpha from earlier. This one wasn’t going to maim him, Stiles decided quickly. Didn’t mean he trusted entirely, but enough to linger for an interrogation.

“Why are you here?”

The stranger quirked both eyebrows at him. “The water’s nice.”

Stiles was not placated. “Why are you so deep into the woods?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“But I asked first.” Stiles’s tone was a touch petulant but he didn’t care. He felt threatened by this alpha, not enough to turn tail and abandon his cave with the falling darkness, but enough to want answers, _now._

The alpha frowned. “Did you run from somebody?”

Stiles tried to choose his words carefully, and then promptly gave up. “I’m running from pretty much everybody.” When the alpha didn’t respond he repeated himself. “Why are you so far out? There’s, like, miles to the gate.”

The alpha turned his head towards the east. “I live not far from here, so I know the woods pretty well. Felt like going swimming, and this is the only river deep enough.”

“Are _you_ hiding?”

That took the alpha by surprise. “Who would I hide from?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is you’re masking your scent and your heartbeat in the water, enough for me not to hear it, and that’s pretty impressive. Maybe you challenged some alpha and lost.”

The stranger watched him with an unfathomable expression. “Alphas don’t run and hide.”

Stiles shrugged again, unimpressed. “Omegas don’t go this far into the woods on a mating run. And yet, here we are.”

He continued to stare at Stiles with that unreadable look. “You don’t want to be mated.”

“I’m not opposed to it, I just…I don’t wanna mate for the sake of mating. I want to mate because I like the person. There are way too many assholes running around out here.” Stiles gestured vaguely at the forest. “What if I wind up with someone who, like, thinks omegas should stay home in the kitchen? There’s violence out here all the time, y’know. I don’t want to be in the middle of that.”

The alpha’s expression had softened somewhat. “Three years ago I was on my second run. I thought I was supposed to be with someone, but it turned out to be fake. She attacked me, left me for dead. The runs aren’t my favourite thing either, so I camp out away from the others.” He tilted his head and Stiles felt as if that green gaze was going straight to his soul. It was unnerving. “Like you’re doing.”

Stiles refused to be daunted. “Sorry about what happened to you.”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. It glistened where the beads of water clung to it and Stiles was reminded of the falling darkness. “I’m past it. Just don’t really want to get in the middle of something.” He jerked his chin back towards the forest, towards the gates.

Stiles frowned. Darkness was falling and if this alpha was wary of the others he wouldn’t want to be out at night any more than Stiles was. “Where are you sleeping? Not in the water?”

The stranger snickered. “No, not in the water. I was planning on sleeping in that cave, but it’s okay. I’ll go somewhere else. I won’t get in your way.”

Stiles nodded appreciatively. “Thanks.” He let it trail off awkwardly when he remembered he still didn’t know the stranger’s name.

“It’s Derek.”

“Stiles.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at that. “Stiles?”

“It’s a nickname. My actual name is ridiculous.”

“Hard to pronounce?”

“Polish.” Stiles grimaced, and Derek nodded in understanding.

Derek shook the water out of his hair. “Well, it’s getting dark and this water’s getting cold. I’ll leave you to the cave. There’s another one a mile and a half that way.” He pointed off into the distant forest.

Stiles nodded. That was an okay distance. Especially when the alpha in question actually seemed like a cool enough guy.

Derek turned around and swam for the riverbank on the opposite side of where Stiles was. He waded ashore, red shirt clinging to a broad, muscled back, black sweatpants of someone on their last mating run almost fading into the dusk.

A strong breeze hit, carrying the alpha’s scent across the river, and Stiles froze again.

He had never smelled anything that good, never in his life, and that included his mother’s cooking. The alpha smelled like river water, but also of comfort and cotton and something that was just _right._ Something that smelled an awful lot like home.

Derek must have heard him pause, heard a blip in his heartbeat, maybe, because he spun around in alarm, watching Stiles as though he feared for the omega’s life.

When he scented the air, taking in a deep breath despite the wind doing him no favours at all, his eyes widened and Stiles knew that he had smelled it too.

 _Mate._ The call sang through his blood, stirred his wolf into a frenzy, and Stiles knew what it meant. This was his mate, his alpha, his wolf was certain. He stared at the man standing across the river and he knew, deep down like he knew he needed oxygen to breathe, he knew that this Derek was everything he’d ever want.

Derek took a few steps back and with a running leap sailed gracefully over the river. Stiles scrambled to stand and approached Derek where he had landed ten feet away.

“Do you smell that?” Derek asked. He kept his distance from Stiles, fidgeting noticeably.

“I smell it.” Stiles stared up at the alpha and wondered how his brain hadn’t clocked how hot he was earlier. His human brain was informing him that Derek was freaking _gorgeous_ and his wolf was yipping about how Derek was perfect, absolutely perfect, everything he could ever dream of –

Derek took a small step closer, watching Stiles the entire time, clearly conflicted. “You said you don’t want a mate?”

“I want _you_ ,” Stiles replied, surprised by his own honesty, “You _are_ my mate.”

Derek regarded him closely, clearly still unsure whether it was Stiles’s brain that was doing the speaking. _Not close enough,_ Stiles’s inner animal whined.

It was his omega that was pulling the strings when Stiles closed the distance between them and met Derek’s lips with his own.

The kiss was deep and good and it confirmed what they both were thinking. _Mate, mate, mate,_ it hung heavy in the air and thrummed through their veins. Stiles tangled his fingers in Derek’s hair, the alpha’s arms wrapping around his midsection. He was vaguely aware of them moving, of Derek moving them, before he realized he had steered them into the cave.

A little shelter would do them good.

Derek’s hands pressed Stiles up tight against him and Stiles could feel the planes of every muscle through their shirts. When Derek’s lips trailed down to his throat Stiles threw his head back and groaned. He could feel himself begin to produce slick, knew that Derek could definitely smell it, felt the shudder that went through Derek’s body at the scent.

Derek pulled back from where he’d been sucking marks on Stiles’s throat and regarded him with lust-blown pupils, holding him at half an arm’s length.

“Are you sure about this?”

Stiles would have given an incredulous look if not for the _need_ pulsing through him. He still managed some of his trademark sarcasm, though, sliding his hands over the rounds of Derek’s shoulders. “Are you?”

He moved back to kiss his alpha’s throat, chest, anywhere and everywhere, when Derek pushed him away with a slight growl. “Stiles. Seriously. I want this. Do you?”

Stiles let his eyes flash gold and yanked Derek back to him. “Just – just fucking –”

Thankfully Derek got the message. His lips were back on Stiles’s again and Stiles felt the want crash over him. When he was flush up against his alpha again he could feel that both of them felt it and he hurried to pull Derek’s shirt off.

His own was torn off his body and suddenly his back was on the floor, Derek above him. It was smooth rock, fortunately, but he had no doubt that Derek would have dragged leaves and stuff in until Stiles felt comfortable. He couldn’t say why, he just felt it. Derek was good, kind, would take care of him.

Stiles ran his hands along Derek’s chest, admiring how insanely beautiful his alpha was, and while Derek did the same to him Stiles wondered what he was seeing.

He didn’t have to wonder long before Derek muttered “Perfect.”

He glowed under the praise from his alpha, and Derek’s hands felt like fire where they roamed over him in the cold night air. Soon it would be too dark to see by and Stiles wanted to see this, wanted to memorise every freckle he found on his mate, commit it all to memory, every touch, every sound, the taste of Derek’s skin.

Just when he thought this couldn’t feel much better, a large hand slipped under the waistband of his pants and wrapped around his dick.

He shod the pants as quickly as possible and decided to help Derek do the same. He flipped the alpha onto his back and kissed his way down Derek’s chest before taking the waistband in his teeth.

He pulled them down to Derek’s thighs that way, then pushed them all the way off with his hands while he wrapped his mouth around the head of Derek’s cock. Derek groaned and grabbed hold of Stiles’s shoulder while Stiles worked.

It came as a not unpleasant surprise when the alpha seized Stiles under the arms, hoisted him up and turned him gently onto his back. Taking turns, Stiles figured dimly, that worked with him. Derek massaged his dick with one hand and used the other to splay his cheeks apart.

The scent of slick hung heavy in the air and Stiles heart the flutter in Derek’s heartbeat when his bare ass was exposed. It lasted only a second, though, and then a finger was sliding in.

It felt good in a weird sort of way. Derek went slowly, watching his omega like a hawk, noting how Stiles’s body stiffened when he moved in circles. He managed to scrape that different spot that made Stiles keen with the tip of his finger, and a fresh wave of slick dribbled out.

When Stiles was ready he added a second finger and began to hit Stiles’s prostate on the regular. He stopped rubbing him off and instead splayed a hand flat on Stiles’s belly, preventing him from bucking too much and hurting himself. Stiles twisted his hips in jerky circles, grinding down on Derek’s fingers, and Derek bit his lip at the thought of burying himself in that heat.

Stiles screwed up his face, trying to find some kind of release, but not quite there yet. “Derek,” he slurred, “I want –”

“What?” Derek licked a stripe up the base of Stiles’s cock. “What do you want?”

“You,” Stiles whined. “More. Now. I need it.”

And Derek knew he was going to absolutely love teasing his omega. “You me to open you up on my cock, is that it?” Stiles moaned, cheeks pink, uncaring of how wanton he looked, splayed out on the floor, an inch from begging. It was intoxicating to see. “You want to feel me inside you?”

Instead of waiting for a reply Derek slid a third finger inside, pumping it as deep as it would go, swiping the pads of his fingers over that place that wrought shivers out of Stiles, lowering his head to suck marks onto Stiles’s hips, leaving bruises that pacified the wolf inside him somewhat.

When Stiles looked about ready to explode Derek withdrew his fingers. Stiles whimpered at the loss, trying to push in his own fingers instead, but Derek pinned his fluttering hands. “On your knees.” He told him softly.

Stiles made another high-pitched noise, straining to break from the grip, giving no indication that he would be moving, too far gone on lust to even consider sense. Derek raised an eyebrow briefly before grabbing Stiles by the hips and flipping him over. He caught his chest before he could be hurt, the omega arching his back to present himself to his alpha.

Derek put a calming hand on his back before pushing the fingers back in. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Stiles, but the slick was making the movement easy, so he added a fourth finger, watching for any sign of pain.

When none came, he retracted the fingers and lined himself up before Stiles could begin to complain. He held Stiles’s hips lightly, forcing himself to go slow rather than bury himself in that maddening warmth, but Stiles smelled only of pleasure.

He was giving Stiles a moment to adjust when the omega slid his own body forward and back again, effectively bottoming Derek out. “Alpha,” he cried.

That was enough for Derek. He tightened his grip on his omega’s hips, moving to wrap one hand around the base of Stiles’s cock before pulling out and pushing back in again. Stiles was hot and tight and entirely perfect and he wasn’t sure how long he’d last. He thrust a few more times, exploratory, finding the angle where he would hit –

Stiles lifted his head and shouted something unintelligible, his hands scrabbling for something to curl around on the smooth rock. _There._ Derek realigned himself ever so slightly before pushing back in hard, listening intently to those little punched-out noises Stiles made every time he was in all the way, the way he felt Stiles spasm around him every time he touched that spot.

When he felt his knot beginning to swell he forced himself to will it away, but Stiles was having none of it.

“Want it,” he panted, turning around to look at Derek with those beautiful amber eyes. “Knot me, Derek.”

The words were a balm to Derek’s alpha and when the knot was too big to be thrust in and out, Derek combined grinding himself along Stiles’s sensitive spot with jerking Stiles off, hard and fast. It had Stiles entirely overwhelmed by pleasure and he tumbled into release, yelling something that sounded a lot like Derek’s name, and when his walls stretched and contracted around Derek’s knot it wrung the alpha’s orgasm out of him, too.

They maneuvered into a spooning position, careful not to stretch Stiles’s rim any further, his head resting on Derek’s shoulder, one of the alpha’s arms around him, and drifted off to sleep.

There, on the cold floor of that cave with his mate snuggled into him, Stiles had never slept so well in his life.

It was well after daybreak when they awoke, Stiles stirring when Derek did. It was hard not to wake up together when the guy’s dick was literally still in his ass, but it wasn’t like Stiles minded. They headed down to the river to wash and get a drink. The sun was unforgiving and they could tell it was going to be hot day, so Derek suggested going back to the gate. They had stopped by to get dressed when Stiles spotted his shirt.

He picked it up and laughed openly at how it had been torn jaggedly down the middle. He grinned over at Derek. “If you do this to my actual clothes I’ll be pissed.”

The tips of Derek’s ears turned pink and he looked away. “Sorry. Heat of the moment. I thought you liked it.”

“I did,” Stiles assured him, and Derek met his gaze again, nervous and hopeful. “Definitely liked it. But I’m a high school student from a single parent family and I can’t afford to replace shirts all the time.”

The words fell out of Derek’s mouth. “There’s going to be an all the time?”

Stiles’s gaze turned blank. “What do you mean?”

Derek stared down at his feet. “Last night you said you didn’t want a mate, I thought maybe this was just a one-time thing…”

Stiles deflated. “Sure. Yeah. One-time thing. I can do that. Sure.”

“Or,” Derek suggested lightly, “We can try us out.”

Stiles looked up incredulously. “Try? You want to just try? No – no claiming or anything?”

Derek shuffled. “I…I want you. I care about you. But if you don’t feel the same, we don’t have to –”

“Yes.” Stiles replied immediately, shushing Derek. “We’re mates. For me, anyway.”

Happiness shone in Derek’s eyes. “You can borrow my shirt.”

 

Stiles did not wear Derek’s shirt. The run had very strict rules when it came to clothing: all clothing to be worn at all times, and it must be _own_ clothing, no swapsies, since it messed with scent and made it hard to identify people. It wasn’t like Stiles gave a flying fuck about rules, but it was getting hot out and he’d look dumb as hell in Derek’s red alpha shirt so he just went shirtless.

He found himself considerably less self-conscious than he could ever remember being, and assumed that had something to do with his mate.

They walked back to the gate around midday, well aware that they smelled like a marathon sex-fest, given what had taken place that morning. Neither of them cared. Most others probably smelled similar, but it didn’t matter. It was what the mating run was _for._

They took the trip back at a slow, leisurely walking pace, wandering through the woods, talking to each other about anything and everything. Stiles had discovered that Derek had graduated from NYU – what a _smartypants,_ god – with a degree in writing and wanted to become an author.

“If you write one of those sappy alpha/omega romances I will kill you.” Stiles had threatened.

Derek had grinned at him. “What, like the ones where they meet on the omega’s first mating run?”

Stiles coloured, well aware that Derek was referring to them as a sappy romance. “Hey, I didn’t plan it. I was planning on making it at least to round four. Be the first omega in three years to not mate on any of the runs. And then _you_ showed up.” His tone was full of mock disdain. “Swimming in a river that clearly smells of omega…you should’ve known better.”

“Rivers don’t smell of anything,” Derek pointed out, “And you don’t get to mark territories. If it comes to alpha versus omega you automatically lose on the territory front.”

Stiles turned to him in fake outrage. “Are you saying you think I couldn’t take you?”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, smile playing on his lips.

“Took you pretty good last night.” Stiles muttered.

“And this morning, and then again this morning, and then later in the river, and then – nah, you’re right. You’re a _pro._ ”

Stiles pretended to huff, then reached up to kiss Derek on the lips. They lapsed into a comfortable silence before Derek broke it again.

“Hey, Stiles?”

“Mm?” Derek hasn’t known Stiles to be absent, but the omega got distracted by a butterfly. A good excuse. It was a very pretty butterfly.

“I know that traditionally, after the run, the omega moves in to the alpha, right? Do you want to do that, or do you wanna stay with your dad?”

Stiles stopped, shuffling his feet. “Compromise. I’ll stay with my dad until I finish high school. Then when I go to uni I’ll come back and visit you?”

Derek stared at him blankly. “Do you not want me around when you go to Yale? Or Syracuse?”

Stiles looked up, meeting Derek’s eyes. “Of course I do. But I can’t ask you to move all the way across the country for me.”

Derek heard what Stiles wasn’t saying. _Alphas don’t move to their omegas. It’s not how it’s done. I can’t ask you to do that._

Derek squeezed Stiles’s hand. “Stiles, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

 

When they arrived back at the gates it felt like they were re-emerging into civilisation, which, in a way, they were. There was a full buffet for people to fill up, which Stiles made a beeline for. He and Scott had agreed to wait for each other there, so they could talk it all over, and the organisers called Stiles’s dad to alert him that his son had completed the run.

Scott had already arrived – it was five o’clock by the time Stiles and Derek got back, and Stiles bounded over to his friend. Derek had already been told all about the best friend and he sounded like a cool enough guy. He wasn’t jealous. He _wasn’t._

He stole a glance at the hickey on Stiles’s neck and reminded himself of the two on his omega’s inner thigh. There was zero reason for jealousy.

Especially now that Scott himself had mated. Stiles had told Derek that Scott expected to be mated to his girlfriend Allison, but she was nowhere to be seen. She had not mated this year, and had already gone home. She wasn’t devastated when she saw Scott had found someone, but she was kind of frustrated with the whole shebang.

Scott had actually been following Stiles’s scent when he had bumped into his mate. He and Allison had met each other in the woods, gotten a closer smell of their exacerbated scents and stuff, and immediately known they weren’t meant to be. Scott had been forlorn and had decided to go look for his friend, knowing Stiles would likely be nervous and hiding, and an alpha being around would probably help throw others off the scent.

He had tracked Stiles for a few hours before his mate’s scent had hit him, and had subconsciously wandered off course, following the other smell. When he arrived in a clearing and saw a beta staring at him with wide, adoring eyes, smelling like heaven, he knew he’d found his mate.

“Shut up,” Isaac told Scott, no malice behind it. “I did not have wide adoring eyes.”

“You did,” Scott reminded him, grinning, “You _totally_ did.”

Scott and Isaac were the only people there who didn’t smell like an all-night fuckfest, by their own choice. It wasn’t like Scott was too much of a prude to go at it in the open – those shots had something in them that lowered inhibitions, and everyone was so far apart anyway – but Isaac had asked that they hold off on the physical aspect of the mating.

They loved each other. That much was clear. But Isaac had grown up and still lived with a violently abusive alpha father, and it made him jittery when it came to physical contact with any alpha. He’d expected to end up with a beta or omega, but he cared about Scott. He appreciated Scott’s sweet, gentler side, the side Scott had often been told that he as an alpha shouldn’t have. They were good for each other.

Isaac would need some time, and they were both fine with that. Isaac would move in with Scott and would never have to face his father again. Scott would make sure of that, he said, and Stiles saw something soft in the beta’s expression.

They were both surprised. Scott had not expected to end up with anyone besides Allison, but he had definitely not expected to end up with a guy. But Isaac was perfect, and Scott was rolling with it, so all was well, really.

Stiles introduced Scott to Derek and there was some friendly-but-slightly-strained handshaking going on. After a few beats of quiet, Scott cleared his throat and said,

“I don’t need to tell you this, Derek, but, y’know. You be good to my best bud.”

Derek raised an eyebrow mildly, smile playing at his lips. “Pretty sure I could take you.” He returned playfully.

Scott caught on to the teasing and grew sober. “It’s not me you need to worry about. Stiles’s dad has guns. Just saying.”

“Stiles has teeth,” Stiles reminded Scott, “I have bitten you on more than one occasion, Scotty, I will do it again.”

Scott laughed uproariously at that, the others joining in, before the Sheriff arrived and was introduced to Derek. They knew each other, John having investigated the Hale fire, and both seemed pleased enough. John looked approvingly at Derek when Stiles told him he planned to stay home until graduation, and not move in immediately with his alpha.

“You’re not a traditionalist?” John said conversationally to Derek.

“No, sir,” Derek replied, “We’re thinking of moving in together when Stiles goes to college, but no. I’m not.”

“Tell me,” John watched Derek and Stiles recognized his interrogation face, “What’s your opinion on omegas in the household?”

Derek frowned as if he didn’t quite understand the question. “Omegas in the household?”

“Yeah,” John stared at Derek intently, “You know. What they should do all day. Their place.”

Derek seemed to think it over for a second before his glance turned to Stiles. “Stiles will do whatever he wants, I assume. But we’re splitting the chores evenly,” he turned to Stiles, speaking with a stern voice, trying not to laugh, “And I do not iron anything smaller than shirts.”

John patted him on the back as Stiles bit back snickers. The idea of Derek ironing socks isn’t something he can summon to mind. “I think you’ll do just fine.”

Stiles thought so too. In fact he knew it.

 


End file.
